


Commercial and Overrated

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal, Challenge fic, Chocolate, LoMy, M/M, Smut, Snuggling, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reposted from AFF. Logan and Remy stay in for the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commercial and Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Valentine's Day, Flowers and Chocolate prompt-inspired fic. I wrote this in response to that prompt when it was posted to my Logan/Remy Yahoo group about six years ago.

Ratings: R for language, nudity and sexual content. Nothing else extreme.

 

*Bing-Bong!*

The front doorbell sent at least three students galloping into the foyer to answer it, nearly knocking each other over in their zeal. So far, the day had yielded two Valentine’s Day gift deliveries, one from the florist for Jean, and a FedEx box for Ororo from the island nation of Wakanda. Jubilee, Kitty and Amara were anxious to see who was next in line to receive goodies. Kitty reached the door first and yanked it open, out of breath and eyes shining. Sure enough, it was another delivery man, this time in brown UPS shorts, holding a clipboard with a digital signature pad. He grinned at the three teens clamoring to fit into the doorway to greet him.

“Hi! I’ve got a delivery here, could one of you sign for it?”

“Who’s it for?” Kitty nagged.

“Um…” He peered down at the box and his shipping tag. “It says Elisabeth Braddock?”

“Rats,” Jubilee pouted, folding her arms over her narrow chest. “Wish it were me.”

“No such luck,” Amara consoled, patting her. “Come on. There’s a pint of Ben and Jerry’s waiting for us in the kitchen. Chocolate fixes everything.” As they left, Kitty scrawled a loopy signature on the absurdly tiny sensor and handed back the stylus.

“Enjoy the holiday,” the delivery man piped, giving Kitty a cavalier wave.

“Hmmph,” she muttered under her breath. “Now Bets. I’m beginning to hate this stupid holiday.”

“That’s why it’s Single Awareness Day, Pryde,” Dani interjected from the den, peering up from a bowl of popcorn and chick flick marathon on TBS. She and Rahne were halfway through “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.”

“I wish someone would send me something fluffy and pink,” she complained anyway as she nudged the large box into the hall with her foot.

“Och, lassie, at least it is nae one of those wee pink bears from Target,” Rahne reasoned, holding up the day’s paper. “Said they were recalled for lead poisoning.”

“Love hurts,” Dani quipped, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

*

Upstairs, Ororo and Jean were in the loft, admiring each other’s loot.

“He knows I love red flowers,” Jean gushed, pointing to the huge hibiscus blooms. “Scott got it right this year.”

“What did he do last year?”

“The usual guy thing of getting a gift for you that’s really a gift for them. A red see-through nightie and matching thong, and a bottle of edible lotion.”

“Ugh,” Ororo muttered, wrinkling her nose. “T’Challa and I walked past a display of that stuff when I visited him last month. I told him he’d never kiss me again if he purchased it.”

“Speaking of which, when are you going to get to kiss him again? When are you going back?”

“Two weeks.” Ororo sighed. “It’s been nice being back here, but I’m homesick. And I miss my husband, not just because of the holiday.” Ororo stroked the fabric of the long, white silk dress that T’Challa sent her thoughtfully, picturing wearing it for him when she returned home. Ororo didn’t add that her visit had been more awkward with Logan under the same roof. Her feelings for him lingered, threatening to sour their friendship; what she really wanted for him was to see him happy, without her.

Jean was oblivious to her change in mood, still ebullient about her gift. “…I like chocolate, don’t get me wrong, but only the solid kind. I’m not into the ones in a box with different fillings. Yuck. Never know when you’ll get a coconut one or a nougat. Roses are romantic but cliché, don’t you think?”

After another ten minutes of smiling and noncommittal replies, all Ororo heard from her best friend was Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah, blah-bluh-blahblah. Blah. Bless her heart…

*

Midnight:

Logan pondered the leftovers in the kitchen after the kids all went to bed with a jaundiced eye. There were only a couple of pitiful-looking pieces of dried-up pizza in the box on the top shelf. There were also the crumbled remains of a plastic box of Valentine sugar cookies with obnoxious red sprinkles that had been showered over the counter. Logan found half of one that was frosted in thick, pink icing, munching it thoughtfully as he searched for something salty instead. He found a bag of microwave popcorn and decided it would go great with a beer. Or two. Or six… 

He grabbed the pack of Molson and set it on the counter, helping himself to one as he watched the bag spin on the carousel and slowly inflate, the microwave’s tiny light the only illumination in the kitchen. It threw its meager glow over his craggy, slightly tired face. It had been a long day.

Valentine’s Day was his least favorite holiday, hands down. All it did was remind him that he was alone, and it dug up all of the bitter memories why. He took little entertainment value in watching the women and girls at the mansion get all worked up about it, and he pitied them when they ended up disappointed about not getting a surprise or ending up on a special date. But that wasn’t his problem, was it?

The dining room and foyer were cluttered with forgotten, supermarket-purchased Valentine notes; bunches of them spilled from little milk carton “mailboxes” that Ororo and Jean helped the younger students make. Logan smirked at the red and pink glitter glue and Disney stickers adorning each one. Logan couldn’t remember being young enough to sit in a classroom as a kid, let alone celebrate a holiday in that fashion. He held the lingering assumption that it didn’t involve stickers or little “to/from” notes printed with cartoon characters or the cast of High School Musical.

It was promising to be a long winter. Logan didn’t mind the cold itself, having lived in the wilds of Canada for so long. He was used to the thick blankets of snow and frigid, brisk air that chapped whatever parts of his face that stuck out from above his muffler. But what frustrated him were the long nights that started in the middle of the afternoon and chased the sunrise out two hours later, so that it still looked like nighttime when he hit his six-thirty snooze alarm. It made him moody. Well, scratch that; it made him moodier and crankier than usual.

Piles of fresh powder covered the school lawns and weighed down blackened branches of the woods surrounding Charles’ estate. It glittered beneath the outdoor backup lamps, vying for attention with the stars peeking through the inky sky. It was a beautiful night; Logan toyed with the idea of going for a walk out in it before bed.

Nah. The thought of a roaring fire appealed to him more, maybe with some old black and white movies, if he could find some on cable. Logan retreated with his bowl of popcorn and beers to the large den. He found a convoluted remote with too many useless-looking buttons and figured out how to turn on the cable box first, then the set itself. He lit the logs in the fireplace, watching with satisfaction as they flared to life and filled the den with the scent of almond and hickory. He settled back into the couch and spread the Pottery Barn blanket over his lap and set his stockingfeet on the coffee table, glad Jean wasn’t awake to see it and nag him to death.

He scanned the available offerings, growing more aggravated as he surfed them. Infomercial. Infomercial. Trojan commercial. Infomercial. CNN. Weather. More CNN. Girls Gone Wild informercial. Guys Gone Wild infomercial…he paused on that one briefly, then continued. Law and Order reruns…he watched that episode until another commercial came on. He wrinkled his nose when one of the actors piped up “He went to JARED!” As if it was supposed to make a chunk of sparkly rock more “special” because you went to a specific store to spend three paychecks on it.

“Sheesh,” he muttered. That was one more thing he hated about the holiday. One minute, the television showed him Cash 4 Gold commercials for people who needed a quick buck; the next, it encouraged the public to turn around and spend that money on diamonds for the sake of a holiday that, face it, had little redeeming or intrinsic value. It wasn’t a birthday or a wedding anniversary that had personal meaning to the person you loved. It was almost a bizarre “trophy” ritual of sorts. Look at me, I’m loved. I’m special. I have a single red rose on my desk. I normally don’t like teddy bears, but I love this one. Frippery. Logan hated the frippery of it all. Yes, that was it.

Mariko was equally puzzled the one time that he’d brought her red roses, feeling that it was only appropriate. She reminded him that white chrysanthemums were her favorite, that he’d gotten it right the first time around, when they first began their courtship. She merely chuckled at the card, asking him “Why doesn’t Cupid wear any clothes?” Logan didn’t have an answer for her, which made it that much more amusing. She appreciated the chocolate, however, as well as the lovemaking that followed.

Yes, he’d gotten that right, too…

The memory made him smile, briefly. Then he sighed as he flipped channel after channel. It was hopeless. Perhaps the beer would make whatever he found more entertaining. He drained the first Molson down to the foamy dregs and set the bottle on the rug, not wanting Jean to kill him for not using a coaster.

He was interrupted from his musings by the crunch of a key being jammed into the front door. He restrained himself from unsheathing his claws; two deep sniffs and hearing the familiar depth and weight of the footsteps told him it was Remy. He relaxed and listened to the lanky Cajun trying to close the door quietly and tap the snow from his boots. “Rem,” Logan murmured as he heard him enter the hallway, “hey.”

“Eh?”

“Where ya comin’ from?”

“Downtown. Here an’ dere,” he explained, amused. “Lookin’ cozy, mec. Where’s de hot cocoa an’ marshmallows?”

“This is it,” Logan retorted blandly, holding up his second beer. Remy chuckled. Logan noticed he was standing garbed in his winter jacket still, bits of snow dripping from his hair where it wasn’t tucked into his collar. He unwound his long muffler and hung it on the nearby rack, then gently stomped his feet to get some feeling back into his cold toes.

“Hate winter in New York,” he muttered, ruffling his hair to dry it.

“Ya ain’t lived til ya’ve had one in Canada,” Logan pointed out.

“No t’anks, mec.”

“Did ya have a hot date?”

“Eh. Nah. Not dat hot. Blind date,” he explained with a shudder. That made Logan smirk and piqued his interest.

“Aw, this I’ve gotta hear.” Remy sighed, then smirked, too. “C’mon. Medicate yerself first.” He tossed him a beer. “Take a load off.”

“What’s on tonight?”

“Can’t find shit.”

“Yer lookin’ de wrong way, mec. Whatsamatter, ain’ watched TV since dey had bunny ears?”

“Fuck off,” Logan huffed, but he grudgingly handed him the remote.

“Got all kinds of stuff on demand,” Remy murmured as he used the Guide button and found an option that said “Recordings.” He scanned bar after bar onscreen, then grinned. “Dat’s de stuff right here, mec.” He punched the Select button and Logan grinned at the familiar opening music of “The Godfather.”

“Wish I’d known I could do that,” Logan admitted.

“Don’ watch much TV?”

“Can’t. The kids are always hoggin’ it for that crap they like on MTV. Ya’ve seen one reality show, ya’ve seen ‘em all.”

“Move over, mec.”

“Whatsamatter, ya don’t want the easy chair?”

“Remy’s cold,” he complained. “Share dat blanket,” he suggested.

“Built up the fire already.”

“Can’t get de chill outta my bones.”

“Ya need ta eat more iron,” Logan grumbled, but he moved over and made room on the couch, lifting up the edge of the blanket for Remy to hunker beneath it. “And don’t get any funny ideas about snugglin’, Cajun.”

“Brrrrr…hate when I can’t get warm.”

“Quit that shiverin’, now yer makin’ me cold.” Remy dug his hand into the popcorn. “Sure, Rem, help yerself.”

“Helpin’ ya watch yer girlish figure,” Remy shrugged, his drawl slightly garbled as he munched. Logan made a sound of disgust. They settled in and watched the movie companionably and made slow, easy work of the beers. The fire crackled in the grate, making the den cozy and the men drowsy as they occasionally nudged each other, reminding each other of their favorite bits of dialogue.

“Hijo de PUTA!” Remy mimicked during the stabbing scene.

“Love that shit. They don’t make movies like this anymore. This actually has a story,” Logan complained.

“Ain’t like de chick flick crap Remy watched a while ago.”

“Got roped into a rom-com, huh?”

“Oui. Ugh.” Remy shook his head in distaste. “Ninety minutes of m’life dat I ain’ gonna get back.”

“How was the date itself?”

“Eh. Not worth repeatin’.”

“Ya ain’t gonna call her?”

“Still debatin’.”

“Don’t lead her on, bub.” Remy sighed. 

“Yeah.”

“Ya don’t want her goin’ all ‘Glenn Close’ on ya and come home ta find boilin’ rabbits on the stove.”

“Nah. Remy ain’ too worried. Kissed her at de door, but dat was it. Jus’ enough ta say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’ She wuzn’t any more into it den Remy, m’t’inkin.”

“Didn’t use the ol’ LeBeau charm?”

“Not dat kind. Dere’s some t’ings ya gotta do de ol’ fashioned way. Datin’s one of ‘em.”

“Ya ain’t ever tempted ta…y’know?”

“Non. Dat ain’ how Remy’s built, mec. Lot ta be said fer good ol’fashioned flirtin’ an’ small talk.” Remy seemed slightly disgusted by Logan’s insinuation. “Remy’s perfectly good at talkin’ someone outta dere pants wit’out any help.” Logan snorted into his beer bottle before emptying it. “Speakin’ of which…why ya home?”

“No one set me up,” Logan shrugged.

“Ya ain’ de kind of man who needs t’be set up, mec.” Logan shook his head, then sighed.

“Wouldn’t matter if I was. Didn’t feel like makin’ the effort.”

“S’posed t’be a day for love, mec.”

“Then it ain’t fer me.” He motioned to the television. “This is as much celebratin’ as I do on any given holiday, bub.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Remy muttered.

“Hey, at least it ain’t a blind date for datin’ sake,” Logan pointed out accusingly. “How much are ya out fer dinner?”

“Fifty bucks,” Remy admitted. “She ordered de steak.”

“No surprise there,” Logan chuckled. Remy gave him a sour look and a little shove. “Ya got all prettied up ta be taken fer a ride.”

“Remy ain’ ‘pretty,’” he grumbled.

“Sure ya are,” Logan argued.

“Non. Ya wanna call ‘im ‘dashing,” den dat’s fine.”

“No one says that anymore,” Logan told him.

“Den dey should. But I still ain’ ‘pretty.’” That was a lie. Remy’s handsomeness fell just over the line into beauty, even though Logan would never describe him that way, especially not to his face. But what a face it was. It was long and narrow, with an angular jaw and deep, romantic cleft in his chin. His cheekbones were high and firm and he had classic features and a European profile. His lips were broad and well-shaped, the kind that smiled easily, and he had perfect, straight white teeth. His unique eyes with their garnet-red irises glowing out from gleaming black schlera stared at Logan quizzically. “What’re ya starin’ at, homme?”

“Uh…nuthin’. I ain’t starin’,” Logan scoffed as he turned back to the screen.

He felt an odd, hot flush sweep over his cheeks, though, as Remy occasionally snuck looks at him this time. “What’s on yer mind?”

“Nut’in’.”

He looks lonely, Remy thought to himself. He snuggled more deeply under the blanket and his thigh bumped Logan’s with the effort.

“Told ya no snugglin’,” Logan reminded him, but he didn’t move away.

“Awwww, spoilsport,” Remy chided him. Logan grumbled, then surprised Remy when he leaned back and grabbed a cushion and reached over Remy with it. He tucked it in, wedging the edge of the blanket under it and pulling it taut around Remy’s side.

“There ya go,” he said gruffly. “Tired of hearin’ yer teeth chatterin’. Can’t hear my movie.”

“Didn’ know ya cared?”

“Ya gonna let me watch my movie?” Logan complained, raising one craggy, dark brow. Remy chuckled as he set the empty popcorn bowl on the floor.

 

*

Three AM:

Logan awoke to the hum of a test signal and his mouth tasting slightly like paste. He yawned and cracked his neck, wondering why he suddenly felt so warm and cramped. Not unpleasantly, he amended, but just…crowded?

He peered down at himself, wondering how he ended up reclined on the couch instead of sitting upright. His head was propped on the long bolster pillow against the arm of the couch, and his arms stiff from…

…being wrapped around the firm, warm weight of the body against his chest.

“What the hell?” he murmured incredulously. A low, beer-scented snore stirred the hairs below Logan’s collarbone and tickled the underside of his jaw with warm breath. Logan flexed his fingers to bring back the circulation before he reached up carefully to brush back Remy’s hair, which was currently tickling his lips, too. The guy had simply made himself at home, fer cryin’ out loud…hadn’t Logan succinctly told him no snuggling?

But his arms liked the feel of him wrapped up in their embrace, and Logan reflexively pulled the blanket farther up around him, up to the nape of Remy’s neck to protect him from a chill. The fading firelight flickered over them, letting its golden glow bathe Remy’s sleeping features. Logan felt odd sensations of wonder and an unexpected fondness sweep over him. Remy slept like a log, barely moving as Logan stirred to try to get more comfortable. Remy clearly didn’t have that problem; his long legs were sprawled out and slightly curled from the couch that wasn’t quite long enough to let him stretch all the way out. Logan sighed, reaching for the remote, which was awkward as he tried not to disturb Remy’s nap. His arm wasn’t quite long enough to reach; he barely scraped it with his fingertips before it thunked onto the floor for his efforts.

Remy woke with a start. His drowsy eyes squinted a moment, then darted up to peer into Logan’s face. Logan’s brows drew together.

“Ya always hog up the couch like this, Cajun?”

“Merde!” He rubbed his eyes reflexively. “What fuckin’ time is it, chere?”

“Three. Little after.”

“Why’d ya…*yawn*…let Remy fall asleep all over ya like dis? Sorry, chere,” he muttered as he tried to lean up.

Logan’s hand clamped around his upper arm. “Don’t rush off yet,” he murmured. “S’cold.”

“You don’ get cold, Remy t’ought,” he argued, but he settled back down, glad to ease back into Logan’s warm, solid bulk. He radiated so much heat and felt so good.

“You do,” Logan pointed out.

“Oui.” If Remy was confused that Logan wasn’t beating a hasty retreat from the awkwardness of their position, he didn’t show it. In fact, he had the nerve, Logan mused, to snuggle against him more firmly, tangling his long, lithe legs with his. Brat, Logan thought.

But he sure did smell good. Remy’s natural body chemistry was masculine but not overwhelmingly musky, just…warm. He smelled warm. He hadn’t dumped on a ton of cologne, either; Logan only noticed his Old Spice deodorant stick and whatever he used to wash his hair.

Remy let out a soft half-sigh, half-moan of contentment. Logan didn’t realize his fingers had even wandered into his teammate’s soft, long thick hair, now dried from his time in front of the fire. “Did I sleep t’rough de rest of it?”

“Think we both did. Too bad.”

“Got it DVR’ed,” Remy mumbled sleepily. His lips brushed Logan’s collarbone as he spoke. Logan shivered as he felt Remy…nibble him. Just a faint teasing of those soft lips, sampling the feel of his skin, which was slowly growing hot. He moaned again, a husky sound that licked Logan’s nerve endings as he kneaded his nape, massaging his neck and combing through that marvelous hair.

No, Logan wasn’t mistaken; those were Remy’s lips tasting him, and he felt the shift of Remy’s body keenly, easing into the planes of hollows of his own. Remy’s was all wiry muscle and long limbs, built like a swimmer’s, and he was arching into him, completely pliant, arms reaching beneath Logan to twine around him.

Remy felt Logan’s change in temperament, moving from gruff impatience to intrigue, then shifting to burning need that floored him. His eyes were open now, and he raised his head to search Logan’s face. He was alarmed to find it stricken, staring back at him with a hint of regret.

“Remy…ya don’t hafta do this, bub.” Remy numbly, slowly shook his head.

“Oui. Remy does, chere. More den ya t’ink.” He slowly inclined his head, giving Logan the time to protest before he gently brushed his lips against his. He lingered over it until Logan’s lips began to push back at his, mingling their warm breath until he was kissing him fully. Remy’s heart pounded in his chest at the sensations pulsing through him as Logan began to respond to him, his hands reaching up to cradle his face and knead that vulnerable zone behind his ears. The kisses grew hotter, deeper as Remy slowly explored the cavern of Logan’s mouth, sighing into it. It felt good to take his time and linger as his friend allowed him to have his way, despite his earlier “no cuddling” injunction, even though he’d been half-joking when he’d said it.

But this was no joke. Neither of them were laughing now. They strained against each other and groaned at the feeling of hands kneading and exploring and drifting beneath shirt hems, tentatively stroking heated flesh.

“Chere,” Remy whispered hoarsely. “Please.”

“Tell me what ya want,” Logan said, his need evident in his dark eyes as he searched Remy’s face.

“Damn. Yer heart’s poundin’, chere.” Remy’s palm burned him like a firebrand as it covered his heartbeat through the planes of his broad chest.

“Remy,” he murmured impatiently. Remy kissed him by way of apology.

“I want what you want, homme.”

Logan made up his mind as he eased them both upright. “C’mon.”

“It’s warm ‘nough right here,” Remy protested, letting Logan pull him up from the couch. But he chuckled as Logan’s hands gripped his hips and pulled him against his bulk. He felt Logan’s arousal against his thigh.

“It’s warmer upstairs,” Logan promised.

They headed quietly up the back stairs to Logan’s room, with a brief side trip to Remy’s to let him rummage through his medicine cabinet. Their footsteps were barely audible as they reached Logan’s threshold, and Remy already had worked him halfway out of his shirt before they even closed and locked the door.

“Have ya done dis before, chere?”

“Once,” Logan admitted. “I was young. It was kinda awkward.” His memory was dim but he recalled that he’d liked it.

“Den you’re in for a pleasant surprise,” Remy murmured into his neck. Logan shuddered at the feel of talented fingertips grazing his nipple. Their clothes began to land in a growing pile and they stumbled over to Logan’s bed. Remy snickered as Logan shoved him down first, falling back onto the mattress as soon as the backs of his knees hit it. “Gon’ hafta be a lil’ patient, chere.”

“Like hell I will,” Logan growled. Remy shook his finger in tut-tut fashion at him, eyes glowing with mischief.

“Behave, chere, and Remy’ll give ya a reward for bein’ a good boy,” he murmured as he leaned forward and barely lipped the plump, engorged head of Logan’s manhood. Logan jerked in surprise as he took him inside his mouth. Remy was breathing over him, lapping at him, lingering over the satiny feel of him and flavors of musk. Logan stood between Remy’s knees, cords in his neck straining and closing his eyes with the exhilarating feelings, hips working of their own volition to bring him closer to Remy’s moist heat.

They explored each other slowly and thoroughly before they joined; Remy gave Logan the chance to build his confidence in regard to what a mating between them would involve, above and beyond “tab A goes into slot B.” Remy suckled Logan’s thick fingers teasingly before coating them with some of the lube he brought back from his room.

“Show me what to do,” Logan rumbled into their kiss. Remy gently rolled him onto his back.

“Y’know what t’do, chere.” Logan sucked in a shuddering breath as Remy ringed him in his slick fist, preparing him. Logan’s erection pulsed in his hand, and Remy couldn’t wait to make good use of it. Remy’s eyes probed his as he impaled himself on him, slowly working himself down and letting Logan grow accustomed to his snug hold on him. His hips bucked, pushing himself up into that tight heat, and Remy let him set the pace as they moved together.

“Ya feel so damned good,” Logan grunted. His hands clamped around Remy’s supple, narrow hips as Remy pounded over him, pushing him closer to his peak. He groaned as Remy toyed with his nipples, clamping around his thickness to drive him crazy. Logan opened himself to the whole experience of making love to him, savoring every detail of it and cataloguing it to remember and look on fondly on future lonely nights. 

“I ain’ cold anymore, chere.” Their bodies grew slick with sweat and Logan’s large hands were roaming his body, sculpting and kneading him, pulling his hips more deeply into his upward thrusts. Remy decided Logan was still capable of coherent thought and that it wouldn’t do at all. He sped up the pace and sent Logan into orbit, hips pistoning and pounding into him. He watched Logan’s face with satisfaction as his climax broke, eyes snapping open in disbelief. Remy caught Logan’s hand and encouraged it to wrap it around his own length, pumping him. Remy made sure every thrust hit his prostate, and he was coming undone almost as quickly as Logan was. It felt powerful and heady, guiding him through their encounter and toward fulfillment.

“Oh, God!” His hips were snapping up in those last ragged, shunting, staccato thrusts, nearly bouncing Remy off his lap, but Remy clamped down on him, feeling the pulse and cramp of Logan’s dick before he flooded his insides with liquid heat. “Oh, God, Remy! Oh, God, Remy!” he repeated as he came, and it was oh, soooooo goooooood… Remy milked him, squeezing him, taking those last few thrusts for himself before his thick seed erupted from his engorged head, dribbling over Logan’s fist. Remy collapsed against him, completely boneless and limp, but a smile was plastered over his face. Logan’s chest rose and fell in ragged, slowing pants beneath his cheek, and he felt the rasp of fuzzy blankets sliding up his bare back as Logan tucked them in. They lay tangled together, listening to each other’s hammering heartbeats.

“Ya never tol’ me how ya wanted it, chere.”

“I wanted you,” Logan explained easily, tightening his arms around him and kissing the top of his head. Remy sighed in contentment.

“Mind if Remy snuggles up now?”

“Are you and those long legs of yers gonna hog up the bed?”

“Oui, but of course.” He rubbed Logan’s sole with the ball of his foot and burrowed more deeply into his neck, kissing his throat. Logan groaned, already stirring to life again; Remy was trying to kill him.

“Just make yerself at home any old way ya feel like…sheesh.”

“Den keep Remy warm and let Remy snuggle up.”

“Oh, I’ll keep ya warm…”

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit it, it's very purple. Six years old, when I was fishing for too many euphemisms for body parts, too many adjectives, too many synonyms for making whoopee, you name it. Reposting this for posterity.
> 
> I still love LoMy.


End file.
